


Endeavour Thyself to Sleep

by Fyre



Series: Desire Increase [7]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gentleness, No - literally sleeping, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sleepy Cuddles, another baby step on the road of intimacy, first time sleeping together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:09:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26254681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fyre/pseuds/Fyre
Summary: After the Apocalypse-that-wasn't, Aziraphale and Crowley are trying new things.Wherein an angel tries to sleep and a demon tries spooning
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Desire Increase [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1784770
Comments: 36
Kudos: 262





	Endeavour Thyself to Sleep

It wasn’t often that Crowley left the book shop, these days.

They’d settled into a kind of comfortable routine, puttering along and simply enjoying one another’s company, though from time to time, Crowley would occasionally return to his flat for a couple of nights of solid sleeping. He napped on the couch, it was true, but he often waxed lyrical about how perfect his bed – and wall and ceiling – were for the best night’s sleep.

After dining at a rather charming little restaurant in Chinatown, where they had gorged on sushi, noodles and tempura, Crowley yawned expansively. One could always tell how tired he was when he forgot about human limitations and unhooked his jaw to do so.

“Time for a night’s sleep?” Aziraphale inquired lightly.

“Ngh,” Crowley agreed, craning his neck one way then the other, bones crunching ominously.

Aziraphale thumbed tentatively at his pocket watch. A thought had been roosting at the back of his mind for quite some time and though he had tried to dismiss it, to let Crowley have time to himself, to do what he enjoyed doing, he simply couldn’t shake it. “I was–” He huffed, biting off the words. “Never mind. It’s ridiculous.”

“What is?” Crowley asked, stretching his arms out behind him.

He frowned, brows pulling down sharply. “You’re fidgeting. Is something wrong?”

“What? No!” Aziraphale guiltily dropped his watch. “No, it’s just that I was wondering if perhaps I could join you.”

Crowley’s mouth dropped open in surprise, the motion sliding his glasses a little way down his nose, to show the wide golden sunburst of his eyes. “But you don’t sleep.”

The angel twisted his hands together anxiously. “Yes, I know, but I– well– the thing is, I’ve grown rather accustomed to having you around.” He forced a smile, though it felt strained and weak. “I know it’s only a day or two, but I just– it’s a–” He flapped one hand. “You know…”

“Ah.” The sound was so soft and so understanding that the anxiety seemed to melt away. Crowley’s lips twitched into a small, shy, crooked smile. “You just don’t want to say you miss me.”

Sometimes, saying the words he wanted to say was still an uphill struggle, but he could nod. Crowley always knew when he couldn’t get the words out, when millennia of instinct and habit sat like a rock on his tongue. “I wouldn’t want you to get an overinflated sense of worth,” he mumbled, as if that took the heart from the thought.

Crowley laughed. “Well, you failed there,” he said as he sauntered across the floor and offered a hand. “And yes. You can join me, if you like. Won’t be much company, but in case you have any trouble nodding off, we can take some of your books.”

Not for the first time, Aziraphale basked in the warmth of the demon’s kindness and casual generosity. “I _do_ want to try to sleep. It might be nice.”

“Still,” Crowley said firmly. “Just in case.”

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at Crowley’s spare and minimalist flat, though the demon snapped his fingers as the lift ascended. The whiff of the miracle hung on the air and as soon as they entered, the scent of cocoa and the warm glow of clever little electrical candles flooded his senses.

“You didn’t need to do that for me,” Aziraphale protested with a smile.

“It’ll help,” Crowley replied, catching his hand and leading him deeper into the sprawling flat, following the guiding pathway of tiny glowing fake candles. “I know this place is a bit too bright and bare for you, but this way, it’s a bit cosier. Key to a good sleep: being comfy and relaxed.”

The bedside lamps were already on, illuminating the matching mugs of cocoa. On the bed, the sheets were turned down, and Aziraphale couldn’t help smiling as he drew away from Crowley and walked a little deeper. Of course his bed linens were black. How very typically _him_. “Which side shall I take?”

“Guest’s choice,” Crowley replied, hovering by the doorway.

Aziraphale circled around to the right side at once, setting his bundle of books down beside the cocoa. He glanced at Crowley, twisting his ring instinctively. “I’m assuming you sleep in nightwear?”

Crowley’s blush rose like a sunrise. “NGH. Yes! Yes, of course I wear bloody nightwear!”

“Then,” Aziraphale said at once, “I’ll dress to match.” With a snap of his fingers, he replaced his suit with a very comfortable nightshirt and cap and the sound Crowley made, he knew, would stay with him for a long time thereafter. He glanced down at himself. “I know it’s a little old-fashioned.”

Crowley waved a hand, several inarticulate sounds fighting their way out of his throat. “Nah. S’you. S’perfectly you,” he eventually croaked out. “I just… s’been a while since I’ve seen your ankles.”

Aziraphale couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, good Heaven, Crowley,” he chuckled, lifting one slipper-clad foot. “How positively Victorian of you.”

“Ah, shaddup,” Crowley grumbled fondly, snapping his own fingers. His indecently tight clothing was instantly replaced with a pair of loose, flowing – and of course, black – pyjamas. He plucked off his glasses with the ferocity of a general going to war, closing the legs over with a clack-clack. “Right, angel. Let’s get you to sleep.”

From opposite sides of the bed, they both sat, sliding inwards. Aziraphale sank back to lie down, arranging the tail of his cap on the side of the pillow away from Crowley. He lay still and nervous as Crowley gently pulled the covers up over him, and clutched at the edge of the quilt as soon as it was within reach.

Crowley, arm propped on his pillows, gazed at him. “You don’t need to lay out like the dead in their coffin,” he said gently.

“I haven’t–” Aziraphale looked imploringly at him. “Tell me what to do?”

Crowley gave his arm a fond squeeze. “Touching okay?”

“Well… yes. I… what kind of touching?”

Colour flared across Crowley’s cheekbones. “Roll onto your right side, facing away from me.”

Aziraphale frowned, but complied, shifting until he was comfortable. How interesting! His body automatically curled up, drawing up his knees. “Is this a normal position?”

“Yeah.” Crowley’s hand pressed light – but as searingly hot as a brand – against his hip. “I’m going to lie behind you, all right?”

“Well, obviously–”

His words died in his throat as Crowley covered him, slotting in behind him, the two of them fitting together like a pair of inverted commas. Silk brushed his bare calves, as Crowley’s legs snuck in behind his, and he took a deep, shaking breath as another pair of ribs pressed to his own.

Crowley’s hand lingered on his hip. “How’s that?” he asked, his face so close that his breath ruffled the collar of Aziraphale’s nightshirt.

A quivery gasp slipped between his lips. “You’re so warm.”

“Too much?”

He shook his head and at once, Crowley’s arm snaked down around him, curling across his middle.

Sometimes, when they touched, it was entirely lovely, but now, with the barriers between their skin reduced to two thin layers, Aziraphale had never been more aware of the wiry strength in the arm around him, of the warmth of skin barely a breath away.

When Crowley placed the lightest of kisses at his nape, part of him wondered if this was what gentle discorporation felt like, his heart thundering and unexpected shivers running through him. It was such a tangible and solid and _real_ gesture of trust, of intimacy, and of love.

He _was_ safe here. He _was_ cherished here.

Mutely, he covered Crowley’s hand with his own, pressing it warm and firm against the softness of his belly. Keeping it there. Keeping him there.

“You can rest now,” Crowley murmured. “If you want. I’ve got you.” He rubbed his cheek gently against Aziraphale’s ear. “Just close your eyes. I’ll keep you safe.”

I know, Aziraphale thought, closing his eyes and sinking himself into the dizzying sensations of being thoroughly embraced, I know.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Endeavour Thyself to Sleep](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26684101) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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